


a dream that i can call my own

by disastermovie



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Autistic Edward Little, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Francis is dad, Happy Ending, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, frostyfuntime2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disastermovie/pseuds/disastermovie
Summary: Edward has never been good at expressing sentiments. He’s never been good at reading people, their faces or their words; his upbringing in country society had been a time of never-ending distress.Thomas never leaves him guessing.(Or: Edward and Thomas, who are very much in love, make plans for the future. Crozier has some concerns.)
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70
Collections: janky franky's frosty fun time 2k19





	a dream that i can call my own

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day seven of Janky Franky Frosty Funtime 2019. Today's prompt was **icebreaker**. I finished this more than a week ago, 'cause I just fell in love with the idea. Hope y'all enjoy! Also with autistic Edward Little ‘cause I love that headcanon.
> 
> **Update:** art by Zoe! [Go reblog it here](https://spaceteenagers.tumblr.com/post/189833250201/no-no-more-of-the-sea-he-reaches-up-with-both) <3
> 
> Title from "At Last" by Etta James.

Tuesdays are Edward’s favorite days. To any outside observer, Tuesdays wouldn’t seem so different from any other day of the week, with Edward spending most of it in his accounting job at the admiralty. But anyone who _ did _know his routine would recognize the most important difference, the one that makes Edward hum shanties as he works, bouncing his leg as he counts down the hours till he can go home.

Thomas always visits him on Tuesdays. Today, for instance: a light rain gently hits the window, the two of them warm in Edward’s rooms, hands clasped on the table as they have their tea.

This is how they spend Thomas’ visits, happy and unhurried, speaking in soft tones about whatever comes to mind. Crozier’s upcoming wedding to Miss Cracroft. How Thomas’ sisters are faring, two of them married (the eldest now expecting Thomas’ second niece or nephew), the third secure in a handsome position in an officer’s household (thanks to Crozier’s recommendation). Edward’s own family, now insisting that he _ must _ visit next month, that his family misses him so much since his last trip. Even the horses, according to his mother, are forlorn in his absence, sadly tossing their manes about whenever they see the blonde stablehand instead of their beloved Ned.

Thomas laughs at that. “She says that as if you’d go back for the beasts, instead.”

“They’re a bit more pleasant,” says Edward, though there’s no real bite to it. Thomas’ bright smile and dimple make a sour mood impossible. “The Clydesdales won’t throw eligible young ladies at me, for one. But nevermind that- I can’t afford the time off.”

“Of course you can. You make enough to rest for a few weeks. And I _ know _ you miss your sisters, as much as you complain about them.”

Edward huffs. He does miss them, they both know, especially with Ettie and Louisa the only girls yet unmarried. While Louisa has barely come into her first season, Ettie has had several, much to their parents’ consternation. Edward was more than happy when Ettie - who’d cried so much when they held each other for the first time in nearly five years - had snuck into his room a week after his return, like when she was a child and had a nightmare, to whisper to him about the soft smile of a maid she’d grown acquainted with in his absence. He knows that she’ll forever be a spinster, at least to the rest of their family, but he hopes that she’s found her own one, as Edward has in Thomas.

And, oh, Ettie never stops asking after “his dear Thomas.” Edward never knows how to respond; he says that he is well, gives some update on his health or his family, but Ettie never seems satisfied. She’d declared in her last letter that she wished to meet him in the flesh, if only to be sure he was a real person and not the vague romantic imaginings of her brother. As if Edward could imagine someone like his darling; his smile, his eyes as they light up in wonder when they visit the music hall, his voice, the little lock of hair that he’s always brushing back.

That habit had been a distraction during many officers’ meetings and an obsession on lonely, freezing nights. Once, during breakfast some time before they entered the pack, Thomas had bent down slightly to pour the decanter into Edward’s glass. That unruly lock of hair had fallen and he had been so _ close_. Edward’s arm felt disconnected from his body, the ache to _ touch _ overwhelming as he watched the steward for what had to be inappropriately long. He’d resisted the urge, fingers digging almost painfully into his thigh, as Thomas stood and went back to his place along the wall. Edward forced his gaze not to follow.

He reaches for it now, brushing the hair back for him, then takes the opportunity to cup his cheek. Thomas leans into it, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles of Edward’s other hand. His eyes crinkle as he smiles. Edward thinks, _ I could go home if it meant seeing him everyday_, and it sounds like something he should say out loud. “Would you like to visit my family with me?” is what comes out instead, which isn’t quite as nice, but is a rather important question all the same.

Thomas blinks several times. The hand in Edward’s spasms, just once, and it doesn’t quite relax again. “I’m sorry?”

Edward frowns. Hoping to make it clearer, he says, “Would you like to meet my family?” which causes Thomas to make a strange little choking noise and sit upright. Edward’s hand falls from his cheek. _ Did I say that wrong?_, he asks himself, as Thomas looks at him wide-eyed.

“I… Well…”

Edward squeezes Thomas’ hand. Thomas squeezes back and sighs. “I can’t- They want to see _ you_, their son. Your mother obviously misses you very much. They certainly don’t expect a guest - or a _friend from the Navy_.” He says it with a grimace. “And I wouldn’t want to… intrude on your time with them when I’m not. Family, that is.”

“But you _ are _ family.”

Again with the noise, and Edward really has no idea if he’s saying it all wrong or if Thomas is coming down with something. “You’re family, Thomas. I know I can’t marry you, but… Well.” He swallows. “I think of you, as such. Quite often, if you must know.”

Thomas’ eyes are piercing across the small table. Edward finds himself focusing on his cheeks, his nose, somewhere else on his face.

Thomas’ thumb brushes across Edward’s knuckles. “_Ned_,” he says, softly. When Edward looks at him again, Thomas’ smile is back, soft in a familiar sort of way, like he’s looking at something awe-inspiring. Like _ Edward _ is awe-inspiring.

He smiles back with a bit more confidence. “I mean it. I think about it, all the time. You and me, as family. Married, even.” Thomas opens his mouth as if to speak and Edward rushes to beat him with, “What I said on the ice about us, together in England, I meant it. To love you as long you’d allow. Everything I promised. I still intend to keep them.”

They’ve been back in England for eighteen months, after the long journey back, when Sir James Ross finally found them. Barely a third of their original one-hundred-and-twenty-nine came home, but they had survived. Edward survived. _ Thomas _ survived, and from the moment they’d first slept together in an overcrowded ship bound for Greenhithe, Edward swore that he’d fulfill every promise he made during their years trapped on the ice.

To love him, and care for him.

The first half was easy. The second, not so much, not at first. Edward had been stuck at his family home for weeks after their return, still recovering and dreading the inevitable summons to London. Thomas, on the other hand, had been - and still is - living with Crozier in a somewhat vague household position, essentially carrying his stewardship duties back on land. They exchanged letters, stilted and all-too-brief on both sides, unsure what was allowed, now. It wasn’t until Edward had returned to meet the admiralty and Crozier had opened his doors to him that they’d cleared the air in a rather long conversation. It had ended with Thomas - warm and still all too thin - wrapped up in his arms, Edward’s nose in the crook of his neck, both of them sniffling a bit.

He’d began arrangements the next day. It was a struggle, thanking the admiralty for his promotion to commander _ in-absentia _ while dissuading the possibility of ever stepping on a ship again, and then having the audacity to ask for a position that would keep both of his feet on land. Eventually, he’d gotten the accounting job, and felt something in his chest release. Finding room and board in London was easy, especially as he could pay up-front and was actively looking below what a man in his position should want. But Edward had never needed much, and even though he could easily afford something nicer, the lower rent meant that he could save the money faster; that his promises to Thomas would all come to fruition. And throughout it all, he would see Thomas constantly, even beyond their regular Tuesday visits.

Edward wishes to see Thomas everyday, if he’ll let him.

Now, though, Thomas watches him with that soft smile, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t look Edward in the eye. “You promised quite a few things. But I _ am _happy with just this.”

“I want you to be _ more _than happy.” A beat. He carefully watches Thomas, as Thomas watches their hands on the table. “I promised to love you. To take care of you.”

“And you have,” rushes Thomas, placing his other hand on top of their clasped ones, so now Edward’s hand is in both of his. “Don’t misunderstand, you’ve done exactly that. You _ do_, and I’m so happy, Neddie. You don’t have to worry about anything else.”

But Edward shakes his head. It’s Thomas who misunderstands, but instead of saying it in so many words, Edward just says, “I promised you a house. A little cottage in the country.” He’d whispered it to Thomas, as they lay in the darkness of his cabin. More than once, during that long walk, a promise that they’d survive. That Edward would make their survival worth it.

Thomas shakes his head, smile rueful. “You-”

“I did the numbers,” Edward continues, suddenly aware of the slight tremor in his voice, “before we’d even left the ships. I intended to save my half-pay, once we returned, and find a job to supplement it. I didn’t expect the promotion - it’s made things simpler. And I know my lodgings are small, the Captain’s commented on it before, but it’s helped me save up.”

“Ned…”

“And it’s all gone much faster than I’d imagined, back when I first promised you.” He swallows. “I know you prefer the city to the country, though, and I- Have you been to St. Ives?”

“Ned.”

“It’s not the city, not like London, but it’s not as lonely as the countryside. It’s a fishing town, and the weather is always warm, and it’s quiet, though I haven’t been in some years, mind. In a few months time, I’ll have saved enough, and then we might visit there, together.”

“_Edward_.”

He can’t seem to stop himself, or get to the point. “I haven’t inquired on any properties yet, but I’d like to take you with me, see what you might like. I don’t need much- only enough space for you and me, and a horse, perhaps, and privacy. But we can find something with anything you might want, or add onto anything, I can pay for-”

“Ned, I need you to- _ Edward_.” And it’s finally the hands on Edward’s cheeks that shut him up. Thomas stares at him now, chest rising and falling like he’s also out of breath from talking so fast, even though Edward hasn’t let him get a word in since he started. “Are you- What are you saying?”

Edward swallows. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and it makes him slightly lightheaded as he says, “I’m going to buy you a home, Thomas. For the both of us.”

Several moments pass. The room is so silent, any outside noises dampened by his pounding heart and Thomas’ breathing. Nothing at all goes on in Edward’s mind as he watches him, waiting. A mix of dread and anticipation in his belly-

A small noise, a _ laugh_, and Thomas’ smile could blind him. Edward would happily succumb to it. Still, he’s glad that it won’t actually do so, just so he can keep gazing upon his darling’s handsome face.

“A house,” he says, and his voice shakes worse than Edward’s, even as he keeps smiling, eyes bright. “You want to buy me a _ house_.”

Edward’s seemed to use up the rest of his speech on his rambling, so he just nods.

“You want to live with me. A home to return to, when you’re at sea-”

“No. No more of the sea.” He reaches up with both hands to hold Thomas’ and finds them trembling. “I’d rather have you, for the rest of my days. I love you.”

Thomas’ next laugh turns into a half-sob, as he twists his fingers to hold Edward’s hands in a vice grip. “I-” He _ really _sobs, and pulls Edward’s left hand to his mouth. Presses his lips to it, like he’s holding back more. Then he kisses his hand, on every knuckle, before pulling Edward’s right close to do the same.

What else is there for Edward to do than to stand, Thomas following, as they stumble into an embrace?

“I love you,” says Edward, again. They’re both sniffling, now. “I love you very much, and I intend to keep doing so for… for a very long time, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes. _ Yes _ , of _ course_.” Thomas rests their foreheads together, tracing his fingers along Edward’s cheeks, his whiskers. “I love you so.” Their lips brush as he speaks, in a not-quite kiss.

Edward’s eyelids flutter, a bit. “Mine own,” he murmurs, before Thomas cups the back of his neck and gives him a real kiss.

* * *

The next day, as Edward leaves the admiralty with a spring in his step, he realizes that he hasn’t been this absurdly happy in quite some time. When Thomas first kissed him, perhaps, in their first winter on the ice. Edward was still recovering from the snowblindness, eyes covered as he lay in his cabin, while Thomas - who’d come to take care of him in Gibson’s stead - grew bold in the dark. Or when the men had started yelling on the other side of camp and Edward ran over, only to see Sir James Ross’ rescue coming over the shale at last.

But to have pure happiness, without any of those unfortunate circumstances attached, is something he finds much more enjoyable. He finds himself humming a nonsense tune as he leaves the building. A clerk down the hall looks mildly alarmed as he passes, to hear him so, and quickly shuts his door. Thomas won’t be able to see Edward today, as he’ll be visiting his brother at the docks, but that’s alright with him. He still remembers yesterday vividly: Thomas’ smile, and his laughter, and the way they’d stumbled gracefully into Edward’s bed- 

He’s not so lost in the memory as to not recognize a familiar voice behind him say, “Good evening, Mr. Little.”

Edward - halfway to the gate - freezes, his spine going ramrod straight as he spins on his heel to face Crozier, whose entire countenance is of his stern Captain. “Sir!” he says. Then, quickly bowing his head, “Good evening, Captain. Forgive me, I didn’t see you.” He blinks once, twice at Crozier’s shoes, before standing straight again.

“That’s quite alright.” His tone is that of the Captain, not the man who insisted, several months ago to no avail, that Edward call him Francis. His gaze is… not harsh, but steady. Unwavering, in a way that has Edward consciously fighting the urge to shuffle his feet, like he’s a boy and his mother is about to scold him for rough-housing with his brothers. Only Crozier is most certainly _ not _his mother and Edward can’t think of why he would be in trouble, as he hasn’t seen the man in some weeks. They’d been on good terms, as far as Edward knew.

It’s in that inner turmoil that Crozier, after watching him unblinkingly for several moments, says, “I was just heading home. Your work is done for the day?”

Edward swallows. Nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Walk with me, then, Mr. Little.”

Edward’s been a sailor long enough to recognize the difference between a request and an order. “Of course, sir.”

They walk in silence for some time. Edward’s mind halts somewhere on the admiralty grounds and doesn’t move again until they’re some blocks away. Crozier doesn’t say a word or even acknowledge his presence, as he stares ahead with Edward matching his strides. Edward, by contrast, glances at him every so often, though Crozier’s face reveals nothing. Or, at least, Edward doesn’t recognize anything that might help his understanding.

Crozier must have had some meeting at the admiralty; the man wouldn’t have come for any other reason, though Edward heard nothing of it beforehand. He might ask, but Crozier does not look at him, and he would not begin a conversation with a superior officer - or at least, not with Crozier. Not right _ now_. And he knows that Crozier isn’t prone to small talk, so he wouldn’t appreciate Edward’s attempt to break the ice.

Perhaps Crozier is exhausted by whatever business he had. Edward knows firsthand how exhausting the admiralty can be, so he doesn’t blame Crozier for simply wanting to walk in silence as he comes back to himself. But- To _ ask _Edward to walk with him, if he wanted to be left alone? Edward struggles to rationalize that. Perhaps he felt obligated to do so - he recognized an acquaintance heading home and they don’t live very far - but Crozier is not the kind of man to practice politeness out of obligation. Maybe his engagement to Miss Cracroft has changed him somewhat.

But not even Edward would believe that.

As they approach Hyde Park, he attempts to relax. Only a few more blocks and Edward will be able to escape back to his rooms, wondering at Crozier’s behavior for the rest of the night. He might ask Thomas the next time he sees him - Thomas will laugh at Edward’s anxiety, telling him that there was nothing to worry about, and Edward will be thankful to know that he’s still in the Captain’s good graces.

Suddenly, Crozier turns to walk _ into _the park, and Edward stumbles a bit. “Sir?”

“Come along.”

Edward stares, but Crozier doesn’t stop. He finds his footing again and rushes after him, all of the anxiety returning tenfold as he matches Crozier’s quick strides.

Now he has even less ideas as to what the man is thinking - Hyde Park is a detour, not a shortcut, and Edward only has more questions as they walk deeper in. They walk past an assortment of people taking an evening stroll, sitting on benches or walking arm-in-arm beneath the trees, entirely unaware of Edward’s inner turmoil. He’s grateful that none of them seem to recognize the Captain, or himself - the surviving officers had all become rather popular during those first few months after their return, much to their chagrin. He doesn’t have the strength to carry on a polite conversation. He isn’t sure if Crozier does, either.

It’s not enough to stop Edward from finally breaking the silence despite his better judgement, his anxiety bubbling over as he grasps for something, _ anything _to say. “How is Miss Cracroft?” is what he eventually settles on, looking at Crozier, desperate.

Crozier betrays nothing. “She’s fine. Now, Mr. Little,” he says, stopping abruptly beneath an oak tree. It’s a miracle that Edward doesn’t trip over a root as Crozier fixes him with a sharp look. “We need to talk.”

Edward’s mind goes blank once again. “Talk about… what, sir?”

Crozier doesn’t answer immediately. He looks around them instead, nodding politely as a young couple walks by, before glancing behind himself. Edward is about to ask him _ what _he’s looking for. He finds his mouth suddenly too dry to speak, which is all the better as Crozier looks somewhere over Edward’s shoulder and says, “The weather is growing colder.”

Edward feels desperately close to praying. “I- I suppose, yes…?”

“It’s the time of year that one might get away from London, for a while. Escape to a warmer climate.” His eyes finally meet Edward’s. “I hear that St. Ives is particularly pleasant.”

Edward, in his confusion, takes a few moments longer than he’d like to admit to get at Crozier’s meaning. When he does, everything suddenly makes sense, and he finds that it doesn’t make him feel much better. “Ah,” he says, voice cracking a bit. He swallows and tries again. “It… It should be. The weather- It’s warm, all year!”

“I’d heard.”

Edward shuts his mouth so fast, his jaw clacks. Thomas must have told Crozier, then, about their talk. He’d guessed that Crozier was aware of their relationship in some way or another, though he and Thomas were never obviously affectionate in front of him. Crozier would make the occasional comment that hinted at some knowledge, and Thomas had called him _ Ned _several times in front of the Captain, so he obviously had no qualms about him seeing glimpses of their intimacy.

Still - this is the first time that Crozier has ever _ explicitly _ spoken about their relationship. It doesn’t help that Edward is sure it’s part of an accusation.

Crozier sighs, looking off to the side again. Edward appreciates the break in eye contact as he tries to collect as much of himself as he can. “Mr. Little…” He shakes his head. “_ Edward_. I’m going to be blunt with you.”

“Of course, sir.” The steadiness in Edward’s voice surprises himself. Despite the Autumn chill, his palms become sweaty.

“I’ll admit - I thought it strange, when Thomas stayed with me, even after you moved to London. Not that I wanted to be rid of him; I certainly trust him more than any civilian I might find, and I’m rather fond of the man.” Crozier looks at him again and Edward distinctly feels like he’s being warned. “He’s loyal to a fault, and is steadfast toward those he finds worthy of it. I’m sure you understand that very well.”

“Yes, sir, I do.” It’s the only confident thing he’s said all evening.

Crozier nods. “Then you may also understand my confusion, when - after more than a full year of living apart - Thomas comes to me, saying that you intend to move to _ Cornwall _ in the near future, without any prior mention. As far as I’m aware, of course.” He leans closer, just slightly. Edward has to force himself to not move back. In a low voice, he says, “Edward, what exactly are your intentions with Mr. Jopson?”

Edward blinks. “I-” He stops. Considers, as Crozier continues watching him, silent and ready to judge. What does he expect from him? To prove his devotion to Thomas? To lay his heart out and wait for Crozier to judge its earnestness?

He could say, _ Well, sir, I’m very much in love with Thomas Jopson, have been since the Spring of 1847, and I’ll continue to be for as long as I am allowed_, but… He’s not sure such a declaration would be appreciated by Crozier, who looks at him so severely.

Edward has never been good at expressing sentiments. He’s never been good at reading people, their faces or their words; his upbringing in country society had been a time of never-ending distress. He’d learned to manage with constant politeness, each interaction a practiced performance, feeling sometimes like an actor having perfected his lines. If he was one, then he must be the greatest actor in all of England, what with how the men continued dragging him into conversations on game and the girls would never stop asking him to dance (he was too terrified to dance with anyone but his sisters when they practiced in the parlour; Louisa was his favorite partner, especially when she was five and would stand on his feet as Edward stumbled about in something akin to a waltz, Louisa squealing in delight the entire time).

As an officer, that practiced politeness became a cool professionalism. That wasn’t to say he had no friends; his honest dedication to duty built him an easy respect among his peers, and his occasional good humor made the wardrooms rather enjoyable, beyond just working. Still, there was always some distance. A mix of that politeness born from fear, maybe, and the worry that the other officers might think him strange (or, as his family would good-naturedly say, a tremendous bore). Those fears had long since taken root in the back of his mind, and Edward resigned himself to it.

Thomas doesn’t leave him guessing. He’s forward, patient, and seems to genuinely enjoy when Edward tells him the same three stories over and over again. Once they’d come to an understanding after that first winter on the ice, Thomas opened up so beautifully. Edward had worried that Thomas’ reciprocated interest was only physical - and he would have accepted that, he _ would_, if that was all that Thomas wanted from him - but that wasn’t the case.

Thomas had listened intently to Edward as he rambled on about home and his career, asking questions and making comments and stroking his fingers along Edward’s hip. And Edward had listened back, enraptured as Thomas talked about his past as a seaman, telling stories of fighting slavers with a strange glint in his eye.

“Would you ever go back to it?” Edward had asked, once, several months into their understanding, “If it weren’t for the injury.” A small scar on the back of Thomas’ thigh was the only evidence of the stab wound that had cut his career short, along with the near imperceptible limp.

Thomas paused in his mending. Edward was beside him on his bed, their legs pressed together in the cramped space. “Well. If it weren’t for the injury, I never would have stopped, I think.” He shook his head and smiled, nudging at Edward’s leg. “Now, though - I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. And I’m too used to a steward’s life; my mind is all table settings and sewing and laundry lists. It’s a different sort of challenge, but I enjoy the work and I still get to be at sea. No, I wouldn’t go back.”

Edward’s hand began inching its way across Edward’s thigh towards Thomas’, barely brushing the fabric of his trousers. “Do you plan to stay at sea, then? After this?”

Thomas’ fingers trail down the shirt he’d been working on, needle still in hand, before resting on his thigh. “Before the ice,” he said, voice quieter, “I’d planned to. I’m not so sure, now. I find that I miss England more than usual. Being warm. I’m sure that my siblings would be happy to see me settle near them, though I’m not sure what I’d do if I did.” Their fingers grazed against each other, Thomas careful not to prick Edward with the needle.

“You might find a household position?” he suggested. Thomas didn’t answer, though he didn’t pull his hand away. Edward glanced at the curtain - the only privacy that Thomas was provided - and hesitated, his face growing warm despite the cold. “Well,” he said, in more of a murmur, “I think that- Anyone would be so lucky to have you among their staff. And I- I would think, if you wished it… Well.” Edward swallowed, staring resolutely at the curtain, even as Thomas’ fingers twitched against his. “I know of an officer with no staff to speak of, who would be more than happy to have you in his house.”

A pause. Footsteps echoed above them, accompanied by the creaking of wood as the ship settled against the ice. Eventually, Thomas’ ring and little finger hooked around Edward’s. “And what would this officer do, with me in his employ?” There was a smile in his voice, almost teasing. “Turn the Captain’s steward into a housekeeper? I can’t say there’d be much of a difference.” And here, Edward glanced back at him, as Thomas’ smile became a mischievous little grin. “Unless, of course, this officer paid me more than the Navy. _ Or _appreciated the luxury of a lock and key. Is that what he’d do, to keep me?”

“No,” said Edward, too fast, because that was not what he’d meant to get at. Thomas blinked in surprise. “I meant- I wouldn’t-”

Cursing himself, Edward held his hand properly and turned fully to face him, even as Thomas glanced at the curtain. Edward would do this quickly - he had to, what with his racing heart making him feel almost faint, and Thomas misunderstanding. “I wouldn’t keep you. Care for you, yes. Give you work, if you so desired it, but you wouldn’t have to replace another button in your life if you didn’t want to. I’d only want you with me, happy and taken care of. And I _ would _take care of you, and…” He swallowed. “And love you, as you deserve.”

Oh, the way that Thomas had looked at him, then. It was certainly preferable to Crozier’s harsh gaze, now.

The part of Edward’s mind that did most of the thinking began working again. He knows, rationally, that Crozier is looking out for Thomas’ best interests. He cares for him deeply and wants to make sure that he’s treated well; that Thomas is _ happy_. Edward understands that very well. It’s the kind of thing that he’s thought about frequently, whenever he thinks of the house and all the things he’ll be able to do for Thomas, when he can afford them. More than just the little gifts he gives him now - sweets, flowers occasionally, soaps smelling of rosemary and oranges, the expensive kind that’s mostly layers of tissue paper and ribbons, carved into to resemble birds or flowers.

Thomas had protested at the last one, saying it was the sort of thing meant for fine ladies, but Edward had pushed it back into his hands and said that Thomas _ deserved _ these fine things, if he so desired them. Edward would give him anything he wanted, to make Thomas happy and feel taken care of. To remind him, even when he didn’t need the reminders, that he is loved.

Edward looks at Crozier and thinks, _ That’s what I intend for him_. Out loud, he says, “I plan to take care of him, sir. I haven’t asked him to move into my rooms because they’re too small and sparse for what he deserves, but I fully intend to buy a home that’s worthy of him, which I’ve been saving for this past year. And I suggested St. Ives because it’s warm and quiet, but not so far out in the country because he’s so fond of the city. Of course, if he wanted, we would stay in London, but I _ did _promise him a house, and…

“In Cornwall, he’ll never be cold again. We’ll have a home because _ we _want one, together. I plan to give him one. I plan to give him everything, sir. I just want things to be nice for him.”

And that’s all he has to say.

Crozier continues watching him. If any of Edward’s words affect him, he doesn’t show it, and all that Edward can do is watch him back, waiting for his judgement. He’s only somewhat aware of the blood rushing loud in his ears. They stand there for some time.

He’s not prepared for the firm grip of Crozier’s hand on his shoulder. “Good. Do that,” he says, a gravity in his voice. “Make him happy, Edward. Keep your promises. That’s all I ask.”

The relief washes over Edward like a strong wave. He feels like he’s about to collapse, but he stands steady. “I will,” he says, nodding a bit too fast, “Captain, I _ will_, it’s all I want.”

“Good man.” Crozier squeezes his shoulder once, before letting go. “We still have more to discuss - you’ll come by tomorrow evening, of course.”

“Of course.”

Crozier nods. “Right. And _ again_, Edward, call me Francis, especially now that you’ve decided to retire to Cornwall like an old man.” Finally, Crozier slipped back into a more genial tone, the kind that Edward has grown used to these past few months.

Edward lets himself smile, just a bit. “Perhaps I will when I _ am _an old man, sir.”

Crozier’s laugh dispels any of Edward’s lingering doubts. They part soon afterwards, Crozier walking home on his own. Edward only watches him for a few steps before straightening again, going his own way. He’ll be more prepared for tomorrow evening, he thinks, as he begins the walk toward his own rooms. They can discuss specifics, the numbers and such. He’ll reassure him of any more concerns, then. Maybe he’ll bring Thomas flowers.

Edward smiles to himself, thinking about Thomas’ face when he sees them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [diydumpsterdiving](https://diydumpsterdiving.tumblr.com/).
> 
> **Update:** I forgot to mention this, but Edward’s and Thomas’ sisters are completely made up! I have no idea what their actual families were like. I do have headcanons about Edward’s sisters, so feel free to ask about those if you want them.


End file.
